In the Serpent's Den
by TornPuppet
Summary: In the Serpent's Den gives us a detailed first hand view of an unlikely romance developed between Draco and Hermione. Everything goes smoothly, for a while at least, until Lucious decides he wants her for himself. (Rated R for content of later chapters)


The aroma of ink and parchment in such an overwhelming amount was beginning to become nauseating, and the more Hermione tried to inhale and refresh her tortured lungs, the more the sickly smell stung at the back of her throat. With a muffled groan, she dropped the quill from her cramped fingers and shoved the desk chair back. This job was degrading, albeit one of the lowest the ministry had to offer, and inwardly she was screaming in frustration. It had been three years since her graduation from Hogwarts, and she wasn't any closer to a real career. She was still sitting at the paper scattered desk just outside of the owlry, which reeked of soiled floors and dusty rafters, writing notices to be sent out at the employees' request. 

Just as she was about to set out her 'out to lunch' sign, she heard a demanding 'ahem' of attention. With an agitated gleam in the depths of her eyes, she glanced upwards to the mysterious stranger from beneath her thick, raven toned lashes, "May I help you?"

"Yes, Mudblood, you actually can," came the cold, poisonous voice as the young man stepped up from the veils of shadows surrounding that wing of the building, "I need you to send a memo to the council regarding the lack of respect employees are showing to their superiors, I'd like to request a meeting over the matter." The stone gray eyes bored into her own as he trailed a finger across the edge of the mahogany desk, drawing it up to be examined with a distasteful grimace lighting upon his lips.

"Mr. Malfoy, I see that three years in the real world hasn't tainted your charm at all," her voice was sarcastic, spiteful, and accompanied by a mocking, too sweet smile on her rogued lips. If she had ever disliked the brute in their school years, these three had developed that into an unmistakable hate. It wasn't a fair world that they lived in when he could just have his daddy secure him a job superior to three fourths of those at the ministry with just the wave of his hand. Malfoy wouldn't know honest work if it bit him in the -

"You see, Ms. Granger, that is entirely my point. When a mere mudblood can insult the head of Dark Art studies, there is something entirely wrong with the way our system of respect operates," Malfoy said, interrupting her thoughts. His lip curled into a sneer of distaste as he gazed down at her, propping his self on the desk somewhat with an outstretched hand.

Malfoy was in a new branch of the ministry deemed the 'Dark Art Studies', and though the description of the duty was vague, it wasn't too impossibly hard to understand. It had been developed soon after their fifth year at Hogwarts as the ministry's personal study of the life in the darker side of the world – meaning the tracking of Voldermort. Strategically, Lucius Malfoy had his son placed in the department as a means of securing control over the Ministry's knowledge. The less they knew, the better. The Ministry always had been somewhat ignorant, Hermione mused, but managed to keep a perfect expression of apathy to her features.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I'll be sure to get to that memo as soon as possible," she commented as she conjured up her sweetest, charming smile, "right after my lunch break." She stood then, sweeping her tamed hair over her shoulder, and began a confident stride down the corridor with a lingering click of her heels. She had expected an angered growl, a yell, anything but the calm and unlikely statement that passed the man's lips then.

"You look nice, Granger," he murmured as he caught up to her slow pace, purposefully stepping in the path of her slinky steps, "a lot better than the mutt you used to be." An unusual smirk drew the line of his lips as he delicately ran his fingers against the silken locks of her hair and ignored her instinctual flinch. Then, with a turn of his heel and a sweep of his billowing cloak, he started down the corridor ahead of her, "remember that memo, I'll be coming back to check up on it."

Her hair, once frizzy and wild, was perfectly tamed into gentle waves of silk, a process that took a good hour or so each morning, but first impressions were everything. If she wanted a good job then she'd better look the part to get it. She never imagined that the simple change would cause the arrogant bastard to give her a somewhat friendly statement.

As the fair haired man disappeared around the corner, an instinctual smile lighted upon her full lips, one she couldn't explain to herself – but it felt nice to be at least partially accepted by him for once.

The memories of her morning visitor had faded nearly as soon as she returned form her meager lunch break, for mounds of paperwork were scattered across her desk. It seemed everyone and their mother wanted a letter written. With a large sigh passing her lips, she flopped her curvy frame down into her chair once more, picking up her quill with a grimace, and began a chain of work that would, unknown to her, last until the late hours of the night.

It must have been around ten thirty or eleven when the faint ring of footsteps resounded off the halls of the abandoned corridor, and as Hermione glanced up in a startled state of mind, she found herself staring into the depths of those all too familiar gray eyes. 

"Where's the letter, Granger?" The mild charm that had accompanied him as he left seemed to have been lost between that time and now, as he carried that sneer of pure repulsion on his facial mask once again.

Hermione sighed as she realized her lack of attention towards her first project, and with a stammering tone underlying her usually confident voice, she spoke of her misconduct, "I'm sorry, Sir, I'm afraid I forgot."

"I would have expected you to be more dedicated to your work, mudblood." Draco hadn't forgotten his place as the heir to a pureblood fortune, and so as it was, he had to loose whatever mild kindness towards her that he felt – it was entirely about keeping up the image for the approval of his father. Of course, Hermione wouldn't know.

It seemed, momentarily, that she had forgotten the promise to herself – the promise of never giving in to those who opposed her – and became a cowering being under the eyes of a predator. Then, she remembered, this man was only Draco Malfoy, a mere boy past his outer shell of superiority. A boy she had dominated countless times in their youth. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but I have been ordered to complete the task assigned to me by Mr. Fudge himself, and as high as you think your stature here in this ministry, you are sadly mistaken," she bellowed. She pulled herself up then in a sad attempt to even out their height, digging her nails into the top of her desk as she gazed coldly up into his eyes. "Once I am finished with my assignment, then I shall get to your request," she said with a hint of ice lingering in the depths of her vocals, but never allowing her stern gaze to falter.

To her astonishment, he let a hand raise to her face, stroking a surprisingly soft palm against the flesh of her faintly flushed cheeks, "You don't have to get so upset, Ms. Granger," her murmured as he leaned dangerously closer to her lips. "I merely only wanted to ensure you had not forgotten," he whispered, his hand gripping her chin in an almost uncomfortable tightness, "but it matters little now, there's something else I want."

"and what, may I ask, is that, Mr. Malfoy?" she queried in an almost whimpering, nervous voice. Physical contact was something new to her, especially from a man that had spent most of his life making her feel unworthy even of the sun's shine.

However, he didn't even offer an answer, but instead closed the meager distance between her lips and his, pressing a rough kiss against the soft flesh there. His hand snaked out across the desk to find her own, and with the lingering noise of crinkling paper, pressed a small note into the cradle of her palm. Then, as soon as it had happened, it was withdrawn, and as she slowly opened her eyes, all she saw was the sweep of his cloak around the turn of the hall.

With a groan, she dropped her body back into the soft cushion of her computer chair. She was ashamed of herself, partially for giving into his kiss instead of refusing, and partially for wishing it had lasted longer. That's when she first became aware of the light note still clutched in the grip of her faintly sweaty fingers. She clumsily unfolded it to gaze upon the lilting writing scrolled over the parchment's surface:

_Hermione,  
Meet me at the corner of oak and white tail tomorrow evening at 7 o'clock.  
Sincerely,  
Draco_

A puzzled gleam dominated the facial features of the young woman, her teeth sinking slowly into the flesh of her bottom lip, still amazed at the lingering feeling of his mouth on hers. What twisted world had she fallen into?


End file.
